Split Shoe Scenario
by Unnecessarily Cryptic Fan
Summary: A uniform, a gargantuan scar across my chest, and a split shoe. Great way to pay me back, God.
1. Chapter 1

Life's a bitch, and then you die.

I'd never really thought about it before, because I love living, but it was all as simple as this.

Because really.

I selflessly devote myself to God, fight hard for Him with every fiber of my being, and technically died once - in His name. And what do I get for my pious, self-sacrificial acts?

A uniform, a gargantuan scar across my chest, and a split shoe.

Did I mention the scar? Really my own fault, I suppose. Thinking that _just _because I dedicate my _measly_ little _life _to enacting God's will, I'm somehow exempt from sin. Thinking that for _some_, un_known_ reason, the Big Guy at the top might cut me a little slack. Oh, how stupid, callous, and naïve of me.

If you're not tasting any sarcasm, you might wanna grab a new sense of humor next time you're at a grocery store.

But onto more important things.

Like the reason that God may think I'm not-so-innocent (at least not enough to save from self-inflicted gaping wounds). The reason that is standing right. Next. To me. With the world's biggest scowl stuffed, uneven and sleepy, onto his almost-but-not-quite-perfect face.

If they gave out awards for **World's Biggest Stick Up Ass**, Kanda Yu would win by a long shot.

And of course, he's in a simply lovely mood – by which I mean that anyone who knows him well enough would savor the awkward-but-satisfying silence caused by the lack of beauty sleep he must need to look like that. I physically slap myself for being such a fag, which earns me a pissed-off expression, but no verbal attacks. Good. Maybe he's finally off his year-round period.

We're standing guard outside a massive, clean-cut British establishment, as we have been for the past, I don't know… Twenty-three hours (and a half). No wonder Kanda is sick of spitting insults left and right – with no sleep for that long, I would be perfectly willing to let a Noah rape and murder me to escape the torture of keeping my eyes open any longer.

I count myself lucky that Kanda didn't notice when I dozed off a while back. Either that, or he _did _notice, and decided to be a nice guy and let me take a nap. Yeah, the latter is pretty unlikely. I'm not sure the word _nice _is even _in_ his mental dictionary.

Then again, I doubt option A is probable either. Say what you like about Kanda Yu – and I certainly say a lot – but he's a good fighter. And pretty damned attentive. Option C) He also fell asleep and woke up a little before me. No, not incredibly likely either. He's stubborn as hell – a good trait to have in this line of business.

Not that I think he has any good traits.

Certainly not.

Alright, if you bought that sense of humor, you may have also picked up a shiny new bullshit detector. I have no clue how obvious it may be (_my _BS detector is as rusty as Komui's sanity), but I know I have a thing for Kanda.

Hence the whole "God hates me" spiel.

Honestly, I have no clue what I see in that prick. Okay, even _I _know that's bullshit. But as long as he's pretending not to notice my eyes digging through his clothing, I'll list some of the reasons.

No one can deny that he's drop-dead gorgeous. From straight-chopped ash hair to a pointed, feminine jaw and a thin but strong frame. But especially his fingertips.

Here comes the infatuation part.

His fingertips are so… I don't even know. There's something about the way he instinctively jerks towards his sword when he feels threatened. It would be endearing if it didn't cause fear for one's life. His fingertips are hot and dry, as I recall from the _one _time we sparred, the _one _time I beat him. I couldn't tell exactly what that little smirk toying with his lips was about, but I could tell he was proud.

In a completely platonic way. That's so depressing.

But he was proud nonetheless, and that dug into my chest and swelled in my shoulders, and I think that was when I knew how I felt about him (I absolutely refuse to say I love him. I may be a freak-of-nature-abomination-of-God-homosexual, but I won't sink down to being so sappy).

A supportive slap on my right shoulder blade was my reward for fighting so hard, sweating so much, dodging (and receiving) so many relentless blows. And damn. It was so totally completely absolutely fucking worth it.

Maybe it was a little sappy, but that one touch made up for a year of nonstop argument and insults.

Aside from being hot beyond belief, I sincerely believe that somewhere, if you look really, really (really) hard, that there's some good in his heart. If you look _really _hard.

But most of all, he's powerful.

Hell, I don't ever want to play a girl in a relationship, so don't think this is about domination and submission.

He's earned my respect over and over and over again.

Maybe he's not the craftiest with words, or the best with people, but he's _something_.

"Hey princess, stop daydreaming."

And then I remember why I used to hate him.

"What the hell do you want, Kanda?" I spit, turning to him, a little red in the face.

Something about his crude mannerisms made him the only person whose throat I didn't force chivalry down.

"Get with the picture, airhead. Our shift is over." Indeed, Noise and Lenalee are trudging towards us, small obligatory smiles touching their cheeks, and raising their gloved hands in salute. Lenalee looks beautiful, with her shoulder-length hair strung out by water. I realize for the first time that it's drizzling, and our breath is thick and white in the late September air. The leaves have yet to turn vibrant shades of fire, content for now with their edges rotting into peaceful brown. Kanda's glance catches me admiring the scenery, and chuckles.

"Enjoying the view, short stuff?" He stretches his arms up over his head, dragging with them some stray black locks, and grabs hold of a wiry wrist with one pale hand, attempting to pop his shoulders.

I decide not to interpret that as an insult, and breathe out, "Yes. I'd forgotten how lovely Glasgow is in autumn."

He snorts sardonically, but says nothing. It's true; I haven't been in Glasgow for years.

And yes, it is lovely. I think he agrees, because he gives up taunting me in favor of reaching up to a low-hanging branch and pushing water droplets off leaves with an ungloved thumb.

Lenalee approaches us first, with her chin buried deep in a woolen brown scarf, and her cheeks are flushed from new exposure to the chill, rainy day.

She giggles a little bit, beginning a self-criticism over how she's such a wimp for thinking it's cold when we've been out here for a day. I don't think she's a wimp, I think she's very strong. And I think she's right – it _is _cold. I tell her, not wanting her to beat herself up for nothing. She laughs.

Marie and Kanda are having some sort of almost-silent discussion about the benefits owning property. I have no clue how that topic came up, let alone how it pertains to any of us, seeing as we're housed by the Black Order.

Kanda and I leave for breakfast. Lenalee hugs me first, her beautiful voice encouraging me to not overeat.

She steps back from me, dark boots clicking against cobblestone, smile naturally up to her reddened cheeks.

Then she does that thing that only she is allowed to – or is capable of – doing. She hugs Kanda, and he lets her. Even tentatively pats her shoulder with his left hand. Suddenly all that warmth and love I felt for her sunk to my feet, pooling into my toes and heels, until I completely filled up with this cold, uncomfortable feeling. Maybe I 'm angry. I don't feel angry. I feel…

I'm not sure how I feel. For the first time in my life, it was not hate or fear or pity. But it pushes and throbs at my insides just as much. Lenalee – my best friend in the whole world, Lenalee, who I love as a sister and a mentor – steps back just as she did with me, and says something to Kanda. Marie laughs and nods.

I don't hear what she says. I don't care. My body is physically just as relaxed as it was a moment before, but I feel so tense and stiff.

How is it that _she _can hug him – _touch _him – and I can't?

It doesn't seem fair.

But I don't comment. I smile, and wave goodbye to them, while Kanda stalks off further down the street without a farewell. The leaves are dull and beautiful, and I let the cold feeling dribble out my fingers and toes, to be replaced with a slightly warmer calm. Kanda doesn't notice. Kanda never notices. He's not good with people, not good with feelings.

And all of that seems irrelevant when the rain stops. It got worse before it got better – heavy, thick, almost-hail rain slapped onto the leaves as we took shelter under the ridge of a grey cement building, too stubborn to go inside with water bulging at the tips of our hair and the rims of our coats. Then the drops thinned, and eventually stopped. It's so cold now that puddles congeal into completely transparent patches of ice.

This makes the walk back to our hotel a little difficult.

I could take this time to point out that in a few months, I will have been in the Black Order for two whole years. Not a lot compared to Kanda, who has been in since he was eight (or was it five? He doesn't share much about his past), but enough that our relationship has solidified from arch nemeses, to begrudging comrades, to something I like to consider friendship.

So when Kanda slips on some ice and falls flat on his ass, I laugh. Really hard. Too hard. But it's just so funny – so _cute_ – to see Kanda the high-and-mighty fall and _blush_. He glares at first, red stretching all the way to his ears, before grinning. I stop laughing just as a strong hand grabs my ankle and yanks hard.

An instinctive, rather un-manly yelp escapes me as the ground falls out from under my feet, and I, too, land ever-so-gracefully on the cement.

I sputter for a second, mouth opening and closing like an over-sized albino fish, incapable of believing that it's possible for Kanda, the man with the world's biggest stick up his ass, to be so childish. So fun.

And it's hilarious.

Before I realize it, laughter is bubbling in my throat, and I throw my head back to let loose hysterical bouts of giggling. It's his turn to stare blankly, gaping like a giant Kanda-fish.

But then he smiles. It's weird and out-of-character, but it heats my chest and cheeks.

And slaps my shoulder with those hot, dry fingertips.

"You're really something, Walker."

It takes me a moment to comprehend that he's stood up, and offered me a hand. I hesitantly reach for it, sliding my fingers across his palm until we lock together perfectly.

If life's a bitch, so be it. I'll live.


	2. Chapter 2

This mission could not possibly be worse.

Road with a net and a make-up bag just for me? Scary, but sure.

Level Four akuma attacking from every line of vision? Bring 'em on in!

Sharing a room with Kanda? Now _that's _a concept worth shivering over. Because as thrilled as I am to have the opportunity to spy on him while he's changing for bed, I'm not sure I trust sleeping within a fifty-foot radius of him.

He's not a very nice man, I remind you.

And even worse than that: I'm not sure it'll be possible to hide the noises I make when I get those dreams (as I inevitably will).

…Not _those _kinds of dreams, you arse.

The dreams I have where my head is slowly being consumed by the looming shadow of my uncle, who begins by gnawing roughly at my already cursed and scarred left eye, until it pops sickeningly and melts down onto my bloodied clothing. It proceeds with gruesome detail, depicting how the shadow pours into my scabby eye socket and scratches at the insides of my skull, and shoves past my teeth, flooding down my throat into my gut, where it tears and scrapes until my skin peels off.

Yeah, pleasant.

Buried underneath a heap of decorative satin pillows and downy comforters, I'm feeling quite warm pondering how to shut myself up in my sleep. Kanda's taking a shower.

He doesn't bother to close the door. Not that I'm looking.

Privacy of that type isn't really an issue when you normally clean yourself in a public bath. Of course, I usually try to avoid bathing at the same time as him for… fairly obvious reasons. Enough on that topic.

I suppose it's time I convince myself to sleep.

When I wake up, I'm alive.

Oh goodness, that sounds so stupid.

I mean, he hasn't decided I'm a distraction to the cause and murdered me yet. And on a whole, that's generally a good thing.

I don't remember having the dream.

Maybe that's good.

Good that I woke up alive, at least.

Not as good that the way I was woken up involved overstuffed pillows and an angry Japanese man shouting foreign-sounding words I could only assume were vulgar.

"…hwhaat?" I manage to mumble, just assuming he'll get the picture. After a few more minutes of strangled yells, he stands stiff, panting a little. He turns to me.

"Mugen is gone."

I blink a few times. This doesn't register as important.

Until I realize it is.

It really, really _is_.

And I kick the sheets off of me, fall off the bed in an attempt to swing my legs over the side, and stuff my sock-less feet into my boots while pulling on my form-fitting coat.

"Let's go." I suppose I sound authoritative, because he follows without question, as I slam open the door of our pre-paid hotel room and stride down the narrow hall.

Outside, the air is colder than it was before, with patches of cotton swabs splattered across the sky, which is a bit greyer.

It's just early enough that none of the city life has started yet. There are traces of movement past the frosted windows of shops and restaurants, only a few of which have open doors or lit interiors. One has a Christmas tree inside it (isn't it a bit early for that?).

Kanda seems frantic.

God, he's stunning.

Not the time for this, I have to remind myself, because he looks gorgeous with a bit of panic in his pitch black slanted eyes, a bit of a muffled red rising in his tanned cheeks and on his pointed noise, his hair disheveled and only brought into a rushed, low ponytail.

This is the most natural I've ever seen him. The most he's ever let emotion peek through in my presence.

Except that once… I'll take time out of my busy, busy schedule to tell the story of "that once," but later.

His flawless, calloused hands are tensing and relaxing over and over again, as if looking for something to grab onto for reassurance.

I remember, first and foremost, that we quickly charged out of our warm, comfortable bedroom to look for his weapon. His weapon with which he actually has an emotional bond, like any normal human being with a lover. But Kanda's not normal. He's special, and I love him.

I said it. Damn.

But because of that all-too-obvious attraction, instead of searching for Mugen, my first instinct is to give him a hug.

Which is obviously unacceptable, so I bite my tongue (hard) before my stupid mouth can offer the option.

My second instinct is to offer to buy him breakfast.  
Which seems slightly less unacceptable.

And amazingly, his response is "Fine."

Step one: Invite Kanda out to a meal.

Succeeded without calamity! Let's move onto step two.

By now our search for Mugen has pulled us well into the center of the city, and neither of us has any idea where the hell we are. So we walk to the nearest restaurant that's open (a little café called "Ma Belle," that has a string of tiny white lights flickering methodically above the entrance).

The inside is comfortable: dimly lit and romantic (in my opinion), but already has a few customers sitting at little round tables and perched on stools at the coffee bar, so Kanda insists we eat outside, where it's cold and no one will bug us. Way to be social, love of my life.

Now is one of the few moments I won't blame him for being a dick though.

It may be hard to understand (it took me more than a year), but Kanda is a good person.

He just doesn't understand people.

Sure, he understands how to piss someone off, but he doesn't get the essence of genuine motivation. He doesn't understand love for anything but the weapon that protects his life.

Affection is foreign. I guess he never really received any until recent years.

Which is sad, really.

But instead of scolding him for being antisocial, I pat him on the back (which earns me a glare) in an attempt to show him that I sympathize. He's just lost the most important object in the world to him, and it's not the first time he's lost it. I know that feeling all too well.

Our number is called, and I go get his tea and my vanilla coffee.

When I take too long, Kanda comes inside to grab the other tray with our food on it (poached eggs on toast with hash browns, biscuits, cinnamon rolls, a croissant, bacon, and pineapple for me, and nothing for him because he's a picky arse).

Once we're settled and I've inhaled my meal ("Did you _taste_ that?" remarks Kanda, disgusted), we sit in silence for a little while.

After a few minutes, the comfort begins to turn awkward. Well, maybe not for him, as he's busy inspecting the goings-on of a now-open bookstore across the street, but awkward for me. _I'm _busy inspecting the inner workings of the beautiful man across the table. His jaw is tight.

He must be distressed. Understandable with the whole Mugen thing.

He glances sideways at me, and doesn't say anything when our eyes lock.

For a moment, my thoughts are disjointed and redundant.

This is weird. This is really, really weird. And gay.

He's breathtaking. I think I'm blushing. My face is heating up. I should look away. I do.

He stands, metal chair making an unpleasant shriek at being forced against the cement beneath us.

A little too loud, he declares, "We should go," and stiffly turns his back to the vacant outdoor dining area.

One in the afternoon, and still no sign of any sword. Kanda's panic has died down a little into apathy (not his usual angry-apathy, but a genuine disinterest in anything going on). Seeing him like this is distressing for some reason. It feels like my scalp is very cold, and tightening. I need to find Mugen for him, and restore whatever fire he had in his eyes. I may not be one, by I get that equipment types (except in Lenalee's special condition) bind with one and only one weapon for their entire lives. It's like you're sewn together, and Kanda and Mugen have just had the seams down the middle ripped open.

And then it starts to hail.

We run to a nearby canopied building as quickly as our legs can carry us, which, unfortunately, isn't that quickly. Repeating yesterday morning's postures, we huddle together awkwardly with the cold water pulling our hair into strings. Gusts of chill wind press on either side. Kanda doesn't seem to notice until a particularly strong breeze coupled with my clumsy footing on ice causes me to topple on top of him.

Now, you may read in romantic novels that when one falls on top of the person s/he likes, it's cute. There's blushing and a moment where their eyes connect. No, in real life, you collapse on the other, his hip somehow digging into your stomach, his foot creating an unpleasant friction on your knee, and your elbow nearly suffocating him.

So it's understandable when he roughly shoves me off of him. It's slightly less understandable and a lot more hurtful when all of the built up tension Kanda's been locking in all day comes pouring out directed at the one object who will take it.

In this case, me.

"Jesus, Walker, you're about as sure on your feet as a two year old ice skating! You've been a pain in my ass since day one, and now we're assigned yet another crap mission together…! At first you were just an annoying kid but now you've become an actual threat to the whole fucking Order – why can't you just crawl back where you came from?1"

It's really amazing I manage to keep my cool.

"I can't. He's dead."

It takes him a second, but Kanda's eyes widen just the slightest when he understands.

And I understand. I smile and try to move on.

Being a catalyst isn't easy.

I could compare it to being a bowling ball.

You can't control what you're doing, though you keep veering off it your own direction. Eventually, though, you either set things off or pass by completely unnoticed, as if you never even existed.

At about four, Kanda's knees give out and he collapses.

The reasonable reaction to this, obviously, is to panic and yell for help. Luck was on our side today, as one of the casual passers-by just happened to be a physician.

Turns out all that standing in the cold rain for extended periods of time isn't a good thing, because Kanda has a mild case of hypothermia.

Huh.

The physician stranger says the most important thing to do is to keep him warm.

That night, our hotel's heating system breaks.

The reasonable reaction to _this_, obviously, is to pile on the blankets and climb into bed together.

It seemed like a good idea, but it really, _really _isn't. I'm up until two in the morning, trying to avoid the inevitable bad dream/irritation of my bedmate. Maybe the latter is even more terrifying than the former.

When I finally get to sleep, I'm woken two and a half hours later to the mattress being yanked out from under me. Apparently Kanda felt something digging into his side (I blush furiously, automatically assuming it was – ahem – something of mine), so he's checking under the mattress.

Guess where we found Mugen?


End file.
